


Not Funny

by TwistedToxic



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Damian Is Concerned, Dissociation, F/M, Gen, Good Brother Dick Grayson, Good Brother Jason Todd, He won't admit it though, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Tim Drake, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Kinda, Mental Instability, Not Happy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, The TimSteph can either be platonic or romantic, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Joker Jr., Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake-centric, Torture, for Tim at least, it's light though, slight emetophobia warning, too bad though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24302884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedToxic/pseuds/TwistedToxic
Summary: "Please..." His voice was a mere hoarse whisper. Jason looked at him and went to his side, offering his hand a gentle squeeze. He let his hand rest in his when he saw Tim was uncomfortable with the squeezing."Yeah, Babybird?" He asked. He'd slipped into his comforting a child voice, his words much softer than he thought, even to his own ears."He won't-" Tim shuddered, looking at Jason with haunted blue eyes. That look, Jason knew all too well, would never go away. He could hide it, but this... It would always stay with him, to the grave and maybe even after. "He won't leave me alone. Please get him out of my head." Tim began sobbing again, while Damian and Jason exchanged a knowing glance with one another."We're working on it, okay Timbers? We'll help you-" Help him what, exactly? Get better? You couldn't just up and 'get better' from this. Recover? He could, but Jason knew the poor kid would be dealing with this the rest of his life, and even then, recovery wasn't a guarantee. "We'll help you manage, okay?" He decided to say.Tim let out a few shuddering breaths and a weak sob.
Relationships: Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 23
Kudos: 183





	Not Funny

**Author's Note:**

> You, reading the tags: Oh no.
> 
> Me, who delights in the misery of the Batfam: oH YES!
> 
> Basically, I watched Return of the Joker last night and immediately had a plot bunny. That plot bunny being "Hey, Tim gets to be sad." That's basically my whole thought process.
> 
> Sadistic bitch as I am, please be mindful of the tags. This fic deals with extremely heavy topics, including underaged prostitution (only in one line), suicidal thoughts, self harm, suicide, emetophobia, and some violence towards the end.
> 
> Originally, this was going to be with a Dissociative Identity Disorder tag, but what Joker Junior is isn't exactly that. He's more of a separate being than an alter. However, I do have another Joker Junior fic planned, and I promise it's not as sad as this one.
> 
> Bold is JJ's thinking.

When Tim came to, he was covered in blood, holding what looked to be a toy gun in his hand. This place was unfamiliar, yet it shook him to his core with fear and anxiety. He couldn't stop shaking, glancing at the gun in his hand.

What the _hell_ happened?

He looked down at the body on the floor: The Joker. Oh god. Oh _god_. Did he do this? Did he kill the Joker? What was going on? Where was he? Bruce? Where's Bruce?! He needed his father! He began shaking, holding the gun tighter in his hands. He was going to be sick, tears welling up in his eyes, but he didn't cry.

To his horror, he laughed.

It started off as a few giggles, then a single laugh. He was cackling - the sound broken much like his mind, on his knees next to the body on the floor. Like a switch, the tears began to fall. He didn't even know what was going on anymore, and the only thing he knew was that he was making disgusting noises between cackles and broken, anguished sobs. The door opened and a figure ran toward him. Who was that? Was it Bruce? Bruce!

He wanted... What did he want? One half of him screamed to kill the big bad Bat, the other half needed his father to hug him and tell him it would be okay. He crumbled further, the rank copper stench of blood filling his senses. His hands hit the floor with a sob, before he heaved once, twice, then gagged as he emptied what little was in his stomach onto the floor, mixing with the filth and covering his pale, trembling hands in both fluids.

"I-" Tim sobbed, retching and feeling more bile than anything spill from his lips, hissing as the sides of his mouth burned. It felt like it was wet. He refused to think about that right now. "He's dead Bruce." He finished. Bruce was at his side, talking into his comm.

"Nightwing, I found him. Have the med bay ready before we arrive. He's in bad shape." Bruce said, before he went to pick up Tim, not caring if the blood or vomit on his purple suit smeared against the kevlar.

"It's okay, Tim. He can't hurt you, or anybody else, ever again."

* * *

All of the mirrors in the Manor were taken down. Tim didn't need to see himself like this: Pale, bags under his sunken in eyes, hair dyed a toxic green, stitches from the corners of his lips to the tips of his ears. He'd just get more upset about his appearance. Jason and Dick agreed that they'd dye Tim's hair black again while he was asleep. As for the other things... They would just have to wait it out. Damian was oddly quiet, no retorts or insults. Not even a disdainful ' _Drake_ ' came from his lips. He looked almost concerned for him.

Jason peered into the room. "Damian, he needs to rest. It's been a long week." Damian looked at him and shook his head.

"It has." The kid looked so much younger when his eyes met Jason's. He looked his _proper_ age, not as if he were a mockery of a child like he usually was. "Is he aware that he is safe?"

"Part of him probably does. He's been through too much." He shot a brief glare at Bruce, who, despite not looking at them, could feel his second eldest's glare piercing past the kevlar and into his soul. "We all have." They looked to Tim, who let out a pathetic croak of a whine, voice sore from not having been used in a week, aside from a few shuddering sobs.

"Please..." His voice was a mere hoarse whisper. Jason looked at him and went to his side, offering his hand a gentle squeeze. He let his hand rest in his when he saw Tim was uncomfortable with the squeezing.

"Yeah, Babybird?" He asked. He'd slipped into his comforting a child voice, his words much softer than he thought, even to his own ears.

"He won't-" Tim shuddered, looking at Jason with haunted blue eyes. That look, Jason knew all too well, would never go away. He could hide it, but this... It would always stay with him, to the grave and maybe even after. "He won't leave me alone. Please get him out of my head." Tim began sobbing again, while Damian and Jason exchanged a knowing glance with one another.

"We're working on it, okay Timbers? We'll help you-" Help him what, exactly? Get better? You couldn't just up and ' _get better_ ' from this. Recover? He could, but Jason knew the poor kid would be dealing with this the rest of his life, and even then, recovery wasn't a guarantee. "We'll help you manage, okay?" He decided to say.

Tim let out a few shuddering breaths and a weak sob.

* * *

The numbness and apathy began to set in a month after. Stephanie came by to help however she could. She brought his favorite camera and his music. She tried painting his nails a few times - that almost always made him feel better, but it was all for naught.

"Hey, Tim." Dick said, waving at him. A towel was draped around his shoulders. **'What has black and blue with red and purple all over? A bird with broken wings!'** Tim's face instantly turned into a grimace. "How're you feeling?" He asked, sitting next to him. It was nearly pointless, but Dick always checked in on his little brothers, his own health be damned. Tim looked at Dick's shirtless form. He remembered distantly throwing his own towel at Dick, giving a playful cry that no one needed to see such things. It all seemed fuzzy, compared to all the emptiness he felt now.

"Fine." Tim said, his voice blank, like the kid before Dick was a robot wearing Tim's face. It might as well have been, at this point. Tim couldn't feel _anything_. He couldn't even look at himself in the mirror yet since they were all afraid of what would happen at the sight of himself.

"It's movie night, and I was wondering if you were in the mood to join us?" He offered. **'How about a movie of the second brat's beating?'** Tim scowled.

"No!" Dick was tense at the sudden shout. Tim wasn't one to shout, unless it were an argument with his brothers or calling for backup. "I mean, sure." Tim corrected himself. Dick nodded. They seemed to having a lot more movie nights and family bonding activities since Tim was captured. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why. He knew they were trying to make him feel better, even if it was to no avail.

"Okay, Tim. Just let us know if you need anything." He said. He wanted to say Tim was doing better, _but..._ "I'm glad you're talking again. It's a big step." It was true, and thankfully, it wasn't a patronizing 'We're so proud of you'. He was sure it wasn't meant to be patronizing, but his progress was so slow that he thought the praise to be pointless. Hell, Jason died, and he was sure _he_ recovered faster. He wasn't about to ask, though, because he always sees the way Jason flinches, or the way his eyes glass over and his breath catches when Tim starts cackling. If Tim wasn't so tiny compared to Jason, he'd be certain that Jason was _afraid_ of him. He didn't blame him. Under that empty nothingness, Tim was afraid too. He didn't want to hurt anyone. He was afraid of himself, too.

He sat with his family - was it, on the couch. They all functioned like a family, but they all felt like strangers in a cruel mockery of a family to Tim. It was surprisingly quiet, almost peaceful. Or was it a mere illusion of peace? Distant fog told him it wasn't ever like this. They were all hollering or conversing, and he could have sworn Dick tossed popcorn in the air to catch with his mouth. Jason usually cried during Monsters Inc, something the demon usually ripped on him for, but that was okay, everyone - including Damian, cried when watching Old Yeller. This wasn't a movie night, it was a caricature of it, of family. His eyes met Cassandra's, and he could see her expression change from that of tense, to abject horror.

He ran up the stairs to find anything - _anything_ reflective at all. He ran to the closest room, Damian's, scouring for even a hand mirror. He found a compact mirror with a brush. Normally, Tim would snort at the prospect of Damian having such a thing, but... Was he still Tim? He opened it so fast, he was surprised it didn't break, and looked at his reflection. his cheeks were rough and scarred with jagged lines, like someone had taken a knife, or other form of blade to his face. Like everything else, it was a mockery. A mockery of a smile, this time. His eyes looked permanently bruised, the skin on his face so pale, calling him a ghost would be an insult to a real one. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair had a few splotches of green around the scalp. His lips were blood red, just like-

His anguished scream mixed perfectly with Cassandra's tears. It was the first thing he's felt in a month.

* * *

Crimes started again with a new Joker in town. Tim insists on going on patrol with them to help bring him down. They insisted that being exposed to someone like the Joker would disrupt his already shaky mental state. So he sneaks out a little after they head out. He wakes up in his bedroom in a daze. They act like nothing happened, like he didn't help them last night! He looks at some of the bruises on his torso. When did he get those? Where's Damian? Why did the others look so fucking grim? Did somebody die?

Tim smiled as he held the coffee in his hand. He was starting to feel again, but it still felt... _Wrong_. Anything he felt seemed to be wrong, like something was missing. He couldn't remember anything from patrol last night. Everything was starting to blend together and become fuzzy. Whether it was ten seconds or ten days, it all blurred together like Tim was a prisoner of his mind, a hostage audience - that sounded something like the _Joker_ would say, while his body was on autopilot, going through the motions. "Where's Damian?" Sure, just address the elephant in the room when everyone is clearly distressed, Tim. **'Why don't we lighten it up a little?'** Tim shook his head, like he was an etch-a-sketch and shaking his head cleared his thoughts.

"He's in the med bay, Tim." Dick spoke, his voice crackling like it was static. Tear tracks were on his face. "The new Joker modified the Joker venom. He tried to kill Bruce... Like he was a rabid animal." Dick couldn't stop his tears. "Villains don't usually care, but... He's just a kid." Jason's brows furrowed, and he rubbed his back, an awkward gesture of comfort. The Red Hood wasn't exactly the person one went to for comfort. Dick was the rock in the family, and it showed that it wore down on him. That's why they started bottling things up more. Jason couldn't stop a few tears himself.

"First you... And now this shit with Damian. I know they're not the same Joker, but... holy shit." _I wish I could have saved you both_ was heard, even though no such words fell from his lips. Tim sighed and put a hand on Jason's.

"When, not if, we catch this new Joker. No throwing him in Arkham, okay? We'll kill him the first time we get him." Jason couldn't help but smile a little. Dick would have normally told them killing wasn't the answer, but Tim was right. They wouldn't make the same mistakes with this Joker by throwing him in Arkham.

"What about Bruce? Especially if I kill him..." The words hung in the air, and Dick, the man who was like a puppy, genuinely scowled.

"Then we pack our things and leave, Jason. Tim's right. We won't let this Joker fill hundreds of graveyards or hurt any of our own." Dick's look softened again. "Any more than he already has." He was back to the determined, but still hurt look. "If Bruce refuses to see why we did it, we leave. I might disagree with killing, but we need to Jason this and kill the Joker before he becomes a bigger problem." Tim choked on his coffee. Did he seriously use Jason's name as a _verb_? Jason looked at Dick and flipped him off, but the smile was clear as day on his face.

"I suggest to try and make it look like an accident." Tim said. "Best of both worlds: Kill the Joker, while keeping dad happy." It was settled: The Joker was going to die.

Tim awoke to the sound of Damian's screaming laughter. He sat up, hissing at the new pain in his side. Where did that come from? He lifted the covers and stifled a gasp. When was he _shot_?! He didn't even go on patrol tonight! A new anxiety filled his head. He had a theory, and he was going to test it and find out once and for all. First, though, he heard the sounds of soft gasping from Jason's room. ~~Leave it to Jason to be a pervert~~. Upon another listen, though, Tim heard a sob. He was up instantly and in Jason's room within a minute. Jason was curled in on himself, looking so much younger and less frightening than his Red Hood persona. It was all a mask, anyways. Just like Batman, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Nightwing. Just one mask on top of the other. The true self left no name, everything else but a mask. A persona to pretend you are. The Red Hood mask, Jason Todd, they were gone, and all that was left was a scared little boy, fifteen in a Robin suit, the cursed name, the cursed mask, alone with the Joker, his goons, and a mother who sold him out without a second thought. Alone with the crowbar, alone with his pain. Alone with death. "Hey..." Tim started, approaching him like he would a frightened animal. Jason sniffled and shook his head. He may have been nineteen, but god, he looked even younger than when he died.

"No, Tim." His voice was hoarse from crying, the tears still spilling down his cheeks. "You... Dami… You sound- You both sound just like him." He sobbed again. "I want to push it down and be there, but-" He hiccuped. "It's so fucking scary that I can't. I know it's you and Damian, just... Just kids, but all I hear is the man who killed me." Dick stepped into the room, looking at Tim with a look that was both apologetic and hurt. He flinched when even Dick tried to touch him.

"Little Wing..." Dick started, but Jason wouldn't let him finish. He took a few deep breaths, shuddering out a few hiccups. Normally, he'd get angry at the softness, not used to the caring behind his, or anybody's, words.

"I'll be fine." He looked at him, his eyes more green than blue, his eyes bloodshot and if he'd had a pulse - that could be felt by another, it would be pounding. He was clearly not fine, and they knew it. Even when having a panic attack, he was stubborn as hell. So were Tim and Dick.

"We'll make sure then, okay?" Dick suggested, and all Jason could do was nod. All they could do was watch their brother cry himself to sleep.

Tim chained himself to the bed that night.

* * *

Oh god. _Oh god, it's true._

Tim threw up, unable to hold himself up. Tears rolled down his cheeks. All this time, they were chasing Tim. He chained himself to the bed, and left the key just out of reach on the nightstand. He woke up, covered in bruises, and the chains were broken. Tim held a knife in his hands, unable to wipe his face of his vomit. He needed to kill the Joker at all costs.

He broke into another series of giggles, hands trembling more as he clenched the knife. His brothers wouldn't need to know until after the deed was done. He heard a knock on his door.

"Tim?" He couldn't tell who it was. Jason in his comforting voice, or Dick? He didn't care right now. He stripped himself of his clothes and lowered himself into the tub, hissing at the coolness of the tile, then at the warmth of the water on his sore wounds when he turned the water on. The water faucet would prevent the blood from clotting.

He didn't go for his wrists. He twirled the blade between his fingers then trailed it along the scars on his face, hissing. Whether it was in pain or relief, he didn't know.

"I'm fine! Just taking a bath now!"

"Tim, you were throwing up!"

He didn't respond to that. He really couldn't respond in a way that wouldn't get his door kicked in.

"I'm okay now!"

It was a lie.

* * *

Red Robin was dead. He'd hung up his suit in a memorial similar to Jason's. He'd grown his hair out, dyed it again, and found he looked good in purple. Stephanie would have snorted and made a joke about how they'd almost match. He'd admit, he missed Stephanie. Or, Tim missed Stephanie. Junior just want to hurt. To reopen old wounds. Jason was still out of it, his helmet laid shattered on the floor next to where he laid. Did Jason connect the dots that Tim was the new Joker?

"Wakey wakey, Deadbird!" Junior cackled, Jason startling awake when cod water was dumped on him. He coughed, looking at Junior, his eyes wide with shock, then recognition.

"Tim?" He asked.

"Timmy's _dead_!" He said and cackled as Jason grunted, the crowbar making contact with his cheek. "You know? You ruined daddy's greatest joke by coming back to life! Batsy was so heartbroken! Why couldn't you have just _stayed_ dead?" Jason snorted with a shrug.

"Dunno, I seem to have a habit of pissing off old men and brats." Junior scowled, hitting Jason over and over, his features twisting back into demented glee with each blow and each pained noise Jason made. The kid hit harder than the Joker did. After about a week of nothing but Junior talking about how he would fix his daddy's mistake, Jason thought he was going to give out.

"Is that how you ended up on your knees in the alley? Pissing off old men?" Jason winced at the comment, and Junior beamed. It was a low blow, and he _knew_ it.

One hit, two hits, three, Jason felt his bones - that weren't already broken, giving way to the impact. He looked at the dried blood on the floor with a shudder. He struggled against the cuffs, even though they were Bat grade. Not he could escape anyways, because his kneecaps were shattered. Tim was a smart kid, even as Junior. He wheezed as one hit him on the inner thigh, then the stomach. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He didn't think about Bruce this time. He knew better. All he could think about was Tim. The poor kid, even as he beat the shit out of him, he was still the tortured and brainwashed kid Bruce found several months ago.

"Tim?"

"It's Junior!" Jason laughed weakly, coughing up more blood.

"I forgive you, Tim."

* * *

Tim came to in a warehouse. He didn't know how long he was gone, except that... He looked at the crowbar in his hands and covered his mouth. He was afraid to look over, but he did anyways. He couldn't stop the sob even if he tried. He threw the crowbar, hearing it clang in the distance.

He crawled over to Jason's lifeless body. His logical part knew that he was dead, had been for a while, but the little brother in Tim sobbed as he put his head to his chest, checking for his breathing and starting CPR, as if it would do anything by now. He sat next to Jason and buried his head in his hands. He didn't even remember hurting Jason. Now he was dead again.

He noticed Jason's comm was shattered completely, and Tim didn't have one. He couldn't stop himself from holding Jason in his arms, hot tears trailing down his chest clad in torn kevlar. He couldn't just replace Jason, but now he was his killer.

"I wish I never became Robin." He whispered. If Jason came back again, would he hate him? Tim knows he hates himself already, he'd deserve his fury this time.

He stumbled to a payphone, calling the number only a Bat could know.

"How did you get this number?"

"D-Dick? It's me, Tim." His name sounded wrong rolling off his tongue.

"Tim?! _Oh my god_ , Tim! We all thought-" Tim couldn't stop his sob, cutting off Dick.

"I killed him, Dick. He's dead."

"Okay, Tim, listen to me. We can talk about it at the Manor, Bruce doesn't need to know. We could hide the body too if we had-"

"I killed _Jason_ , Dick." He couldn't stop shaking.

"Stay where you are, okay? Babs is tracing your location as we speak."

Tim was gone when they arrived at the warehouse.

* * *

Tim sat on top of Wayne Enterprises. He used to be the CEO. He used to be Red Robin. He used to be... A _replacement_. Someone else can take up the Red Robin mantle. Maybe Damian. He took Robin from him, now there's no one in his way. It's bitterly ironic, isn't it? Tim was the Replacement, and yet he knows he'll be replaced too, when he's gone.

He looks at the ground below. All the lights, a somewhat larger bustle. It was safer at night now that the Joker has been stopped. He'd think it was almost sweet. Other rogues were still missing, but the Joker was feared the most. People could leave their houses again without being hit with Joker venom.

All he had to do now was ensure the safety of Gotham. There was only one way to get rid of Junior once and for all. Besides, He was Robin. _He always wondered what it would be like to fly._

_'This joke isn't funny anymore'_   
_\- Timothy 'Junior' Drake_

**Author's Note:**

> This hurt to write and I know nobody asked for (or particularly wanted) this fic, but it exists now.
> 
> I thought this was going to be like, 6000 words and now I'm disappointed it isn't since this took me eight hours to write. Eventually, when my main device is fixed, I promise my works will be longer! The bad news is that I don't know when it's going to be fixed.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know if you would like any tags added!


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